“That lying, cheating bastard doesn’t deserve you.” She breaks off another chunk of bread. “You’re pretty, for starters.” Slowly running her eyes over me, she mops up more sauce with the bread. “And you’re kind. I don’t see that a lot…especially from lawyers.”
“How do you know I’m a lawyer?”
“Lucky guess.” She smiles, showing off crooked and yellowed teeth. “And I’ve seen you carrying files with that fancy agency name on it.”
“Oh.” I smile back. “I was beginning to think you were psychic or something.”
“Or something is right. Are you a public defender or something noble like that?”
I shake my head. “I mostly do real estate law. Nothing too noble; well, I did win a case a few months ago against a slum lord whose building wasn’t up to code and was overcharging the tenants.”
I wrap my fingers around the teacup and pick it up. My mouth is dry, and my stomach clenched the moment I saw the texts and hasn’t relaxed. I’m afraid if I put anything in there it’ll just chuck it right back up.
“That’s cool.” She spends a few minutes eating in silence. Once her plate is almost clear, she eyes my pasta. I slide it to her, and she digs in. “What are you going to do?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“You’re breaking up with the asshole, right?”
My head bobs up and down. I can’t go back to the way things were. Some people can forgive a spouse for cheating, but I’m not that kind of person. Maybe if we had kids to consider, but we haven’t even walked down the aisle yet.
“We work together,” I whisper, feeling like I’m going to barf. Or cry. Or stand up, flip the table, and scream bloody murder. “And the…the other woman is his assistant.”
“Oh shit, that’s some reality TV drama.”
“Yeah.” My mind goes to Gemma, and I just don’t understand what she has that I don’t. What would draw him to cheat? She’s only a few years younger than me, is rather plain-looking, and couldn’t get into law school. She’s always been nice enough to me, but she knows—she fucking knows—she’s taking part in an affair.
“I just feel so stupid,” I say in a small voice. Tears blur my eyes and my throat tightens. I pick up the tea and take a small sip, hoping swallowing something other than bile will keep me from puking. I squeeze my eyes closed and repress everything I’m feeling.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Jolene.
“Don’t be.” She twirls noodles around on her fork. “It’s easier to talk to someone who doesn’t know you, who won’t judge you or whose judgment doesn’t matter than it is to talk to someone close sometimes.”
“That’s really accurate right now. But still, I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “If listening to you talk means I get some fancy food then by all means, keep talking.”
I take another drink of tea and lean back, looking around the restaurant. People are carrying on like they didn’t just find out everything they’ve built their lives around was a sham.
“How long you think the asshole’s been cheating on you?”
I shake my head, wiping away a tear before it has a chance to run down my cheek. “I’m not sure.” Todd’s been working on a case for a big client for the last month. He’s stayed late a lot over that time, but since I knew the case was legit, I didn’t think much of it. His uncle is a partner at our firm and is how Todd got the job…and how he was able to get in on such a big case so soon.
“So,” Jolene says again. “What are you going to do?”* * *
I stick the spoon back into the tub of ice cream, digging around for a piece of cookie dough. Jolene’s question stuck with me as I started to walk back to work. Back to where he was. And my pain started to turn into anger.
What are you going to do?
I wasn’t going to go back to work and stare at little miss redhead’s face acting like everything was okay. And I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t go ape-shit once I got back to the office. So I called in sick, saying I got food poisoning. Todd texted me not long after that, asking if I was okay and telling me he’d be late.
Because he’ll be screwing his secretary on top of his desk.
Okay, he didn’t say that, but it’s what’s going on, I’m sure.
It’s nine-thirty at night, and the door to our apartment opens. Tulip, my black-and-white cat, growls when Todd walks inside. She’s never liked him, and now I’m wishing I listened to her. Though that cat doesn’t like anyone but me.
“Hey, babe.” Todd tosses his keys in the bowl on the entryway table. Our apartment is small, way overpriced, and perfectly New York chic. It’s what young lawyers new to the city are supposed to live in…well, if you’re going off what you see on TV. “Feeling better?”